


The Distraction

by the_transparent_wolf



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Garden parties, M/M, Pre-World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:10:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_transparent_wolf/pseuds/the_transparent_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy accompanies Roxy to a garden party. What could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> I've made the age difference between Eggsy and Harry much smaller here. Harry's about 25, Eggsy around 20.
> 
> Guz, keep in mind that this fic is set before WWI. Harry is a wealthy, sheltered young man who, as Roxy remarked, was "born in the purple", without Kingsmen experience, without a military background, and definitely without anyone expecting him to become the graceful and strong and principled Galahad we love him as. Out-of-characterness is a guarantee here, but don't worry, we'll get there with him.
> 
>  
> 
> Feedback is always welcome, be it a comment, correction, critique, or flame. It's how I can improve!

Wilkins peered at Eggsy before opening the door wider to admit him into the house. Eggsy deposited his card, corner folded, on the offered silver tray, and sat down to await his answer. Shortly Wilkins returned with a favourable one. Eggsy followed the butler into a spacious room with impeccable ivory walls and rich, cream-and-gold curtains parted to allow in ample daylight. The butler announced Eggsy, and Roxy looked up from her letter writing at the table.

“Thank you, Mr Wilkins.”

The butler bowed and left them.

“Lady Wilberforce is having a garden party on Saturday.” Eggsy listened, waiting for cues for the reason Roxy asked him to call on her. “She extended an invitation. I thought you might come with me.”

“Are you taking the piss?” said Eggsy blankly.

“No, Eggsy.”

“Rox, what makes you think Lady Wilberforce would like to have _me_ there?”

“The presence of charming and handsome young men are coveted at garden parties. It will broaden your circle, Eggsy, and improve your opportunities if you make a pleasant impression.”

“Only if _they’re_ receptive to being impressed.”

“Generally they are not,” said Roxy. “But I don’t fancy facing them alone.” She switched to a softer, pleading tone, “Count it as a favour, Eggsy, please.”

“Alright,” Eggsy sighed, “I’ll go with you if Mum has time to look after Daisy.”

“Mother would love to entertain Daisy for the day. She’s even ordered a new service for their tea parties, you know how much fun they had last time.”

 

* * *

 

During the drive to Hertford House, Eggsy remained reticent despite Percival’s observations about the weather and avoided Roxy’s concerned looks by staring out the window. Roxy couldn’t say anything in front of her uncle, who had been charged by Mrs Morton to act as chaperon and who tended to make intermittent observations of uncomfortable truths in a constancy of obliviousness. When they arrived Roxy grabbed Eggsy’s elbow, ignoring Percival’s faintly raised eyebrow, and marched him to the spread of _salambos_ and glazed tarts where no one could eavesdrop.

“What’s wrong?” asked Roxy.

“Nothing, Rox,” said Eggsy with a smile that didn’t crinkle his eyes.

“Is it the party? Shall I call our carriage early—”

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong,” said Eggsy, firmly. “I’m fine. The party is fine. You look very fine.”

Roxy didn’t look convinced or flattered, before she could say anything further Lady Wilberforce descended upon them and pulled her away to talk about Mrs Morton’s new Persian kittens, leaving Eggsy alone by a serving platter of artistically arranged _calisson._

He studied the petal-shaped sweets intently, to ward off unwanted conversation, and admired the delicate whiteness of their royal icing topping. He almost wanted to take one to save for Daisy; she was growing little pearly teeth and biting anything within reach, which meant Eggsy hiding or moving anything unhealthy for her consumption out of the immediate radius. Most of the time Dean didn’t notice, or didn’t care, but when he did, and Micelle couldn’t distract him, it was Eggsy who took the beatings.

“Rather hazardous to one’s appearance, these things.”

Eggsy looked up at the speaker. Blinked at the vision before him. The Vision gave him a sweet, dimpled smile, and extended a hand. “Harry Hart. How do you do.”

“How do you do. Gary Unwin, but call me Eggsy.” 

“Give it a try,” said Harry, “it’s quite refreshing.”

“You just warned me against it.”

“One should never attend a garden party without at least one attempt at disruption—Lady Bracknell has declared her disapproval of crumbs on any occasion.” Harry grinned when Eggsy took a bite of a calisson: an enchanting, contained explosion of the floral sweetness of melons and, indeed, crumbs. 

“Why, though?” said Eggsy, as he made sure there were no crumbs on his face or clothes.

“The advantage of disruptions is that it takes away the pain of the present, but the real reason for its necessity is the short supply of superior substitutes. Take Chartreuse, for example. It eases the experience of any situation, and when it is most needed it is never provided. Say what you like about the decay of Christianity, but a religious system that produced green Chartreuse can never really die.”

“ _Harry._ ”

“Merlin,” said Harry pleasantly. “Eggsy and I were just discussing crumbs. Eggsy, this is Merlin. You mustn’t ask for his first name; I’ve been sworn to state secrecy. Merlin, Mr Eggsy Unwin.”  

They shook hands. Merlin was a tall gentleman of thirty, with a receding hairline and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. He was glaring pointedly at Harry, who breezily continued, “The garden party, now, is a reservoir of interesting types. The croquet players—”

“Are scoring points,” interrupted Merlin.

“Merlin is at the War Office,” Harry explained. “He claims stress most of the time for his behaviour.”

“Have you seen Percy?” said Merlin, ignoring the last quip. “He’s here with his niece.”

“He was over there with, uh, the Lieutenant General.” Eggsy explained, “We were introduced by Roxy.”

Merlin thanked Eggsy and excused himself, but not without a last warning look at Harry, which Harry evidently either ignored or forgot, because the moment Merlin went out of earshot, he leant forward, smiling a bit, “Would you like to see?”

It couldn’t be helped; it was almost as if magnetic force drew Eggsy to Harry. When he said _yes_ , Harry’s honey-tinged brown eyes warmed and he touched Eggsy’s arm briefly, ostensibly to guide him to another area of the lawn. 

“Are you a favourite among hostesses?” Eggsy couldn’t imagine Lady Bracknell, whom he had met once (and wished never to see again), tolerating liberal remarks about the Church at her table.

“I’m considered unusual enough to balance out the rest of the guest list,” replied Harry serenely. “Speaking of the guests, before I was deposited by your side by my cousin I overheard Colonel Pickford recounting his time in India. Have you been? It’s an interesting place.” Eggsy mentioned a girl he knew who had been married off to India. Harry listened with interest, “Did she acclimatise to the heat?”

“No,” Eggsy admitted. “She returned ‘bout two years later. I know I couldn’t abandon the sun for the English rain.”

The lawn opened out to a carpet of uniform green gently sloping up to the distant border of English Elms. It was a beautiful spring day. Under a cloudlessly blue sky, cool breeze swaying the veils and dresses of the ladies to aesthetic effect, the direct sunlight brought out hues of gold in Eggsy’s wavy light brown hair. It lent an angelic frame to his features, which Harry would rather like to draw; being without paper or charcoal he invited Eggsy to his country house to reproduce the same effect so he could sketch it at leisure.

“I—thank you,” Eggsy stared at Harry, preparing to decline as politely as he could, when someone interrupted them. 

Harry regarded the lady with exaggerated surprise.

“…must leave at once,” she finished.

“I haven’t eaten any cucumber sandwiches yet.”

“Dear Harry, I left you at the table!”

“I don’t eat merely because I am near food. Anyway what has the Kiplings anything to do with anyone? The last time I saw the husband he was about to abjure his political allegiance to Labour. Has he changed his mind?”

“Mrs Kipling has become intoxicated from the box of truffles you passed around.”

“Ah,” murmured Harry. He gazed sorrowfully at Eggsy, “We missed it.”

The Lady flushed with embarrassment when she noticed Eggsy standing next to them. She shot a side glance at Harry, hoping that the presence of a friend will persuade his observance of social decorum. It is said that anticipating a different outcome despite past experiences is a symptom of insanity, but miracles, it must be admitted, are known to occur. With a sigh of unspeakable weariness, Harry bid farewell to Eggsy and followed his cousin to their carriage.

 

* * *

 

Roxy gawped at him with open-mouthed incredulity. “You were with Harry Hart?” 

“I didn’t realise he had a reputation,” said Eggsy.

“Oh, he’s _interesting_ enough, born in the purple, of course—” Roxy stopped, remembering her uncle sitting beside her. Percival gazed at her calmly; Roxy squirmed. “Uncle Percy is an old friend of Harry’s.”

“We were at Eton together,” said Percival.

“But you said that he was, well, _unique_ then, too.”

Seeing Eggsy and Roxy’s interested faces, Percival sighed and resigned himself to reminiscing. “Harry was a few years below Merlin and me, he’d just entered Eton when we were preparing to leave for Oxford. To his credit, he’d made a name for himself by second year.”

“What did he do?”

Percival looked pained.

“He disobeyed every disciplinary action delivered by the masters, though he did exceptionally well in his studies, and was always v. well behaved at balls. Well,” Percival reflected, “he did once.”

“He was very nice,” said Eggsy, a tad defensive of the young man.

“To you, perhaps,” Percival conceded. “Harry is charming when he takes to someone.”

Not knowing what to say in reply, Eggsy looked down at the kid gloves he wore, unaccountably pleased and diffident.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I dropped a few references to the works of Oscar Wilde and Saki


End file.
